


Research Purposes

by Senjogahara_Appreciator



Category: BlazBlue, Guilty Gear
Genre: Anal, Bondage, Mind Control, Multi, Oral Sex, Other, Torture, Watching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-09 23:17:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13491897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Senjogahara_Appreciator/pseuds/Senjogahara_Appreciator
Summary: Slayer and Valkenhayn "invite" you to the Hellsing manor for Sexy Experimentation.





	Research Purposes

**Author's Note:**

> I’m writing Valkenhayn as Young Valkenhayn in this fic because I don't like the sound of decrepit werewolf cock.

Drained, you drag yourself your car after work. You take a moment before beginning your commute. The leaves are turning and falling, but the weather is fine and the sun is still a long way from setting.

Some months ago, you purchased a house in an underpopulated subdivision surrounded by an enormous forest. One-car garage. Two floors - a ground floor for entertaining, and a second floor for studying, sleeping, et cetera. You settled into a rhythm of working, cooking for your friends, and going out for drinks with your coworkers. Your neighbors are sparse enough along the winding, wooded road that you hardly saw any of them outside of their cars.

The only seriously unusual aspect of the neighbourhood is the enormous antique car, and whoever drove it. They live in a gated mansion about twenty minutes up the road from you. It takes a specific sort to own an antique Rolls-Royce, you thought to yourself, and an even more specific sort to drift it every day. 

You exit the highway onto that winding road. Dry leaves coat the shoulder and swirl in the wake of your car, flashing in the orange light that filters through the trees. The tension in your shoulders from work begins to fall away as you ease through the corners. 

A growl signals the approaching of the Rolls-Royce. The sound turns rapidly into an earth-shaking roar. Nearly perpendicular to the road, painting the air with blue smoke and black exhaust, the Rolls-Royce explodes around the corner.

You swerve onto the shoulder. The Rolls-Royce surges past, nearly clipping your front bumper. Your car punches through the trail of smoke, then a vortex of leaves. You barely have time to breathe before hearing the Rolls-Royce skid to a halt behind you. You get back on the road and attempt to leave it behind. Your windows rattle as it begins accelerating again.

It turns around and begins gaining on you.

Despite your attempt at escape, the Rolls-Royce catches up to you in seconds. It envelops your rear-view mirror completely, black windows glinting in the sun, before swerving into the oncoming lane and pulling up beside you. You’re split between staring at your pursuer, trying to stay on the road, and trying to keep your heart from smashing your ribcage.

The passenger-side window of the Rolls-Royce explodes. A fist emerges through the splash of glass fragments. Shards of untempered window glass glance off your car. The Rolls-Royce remains approximately in-line with you, treating you to a gruesome display of a hand clearing away the rest of the glass. Drops of blood wick away on the wind. Once the window is completely removed, another hand clutching a champagne bottle and a fat cigar emerges. Embers glow in the oncoming air. Finally, the passenger’s head and most of his torso come fully out of the window. An almost middle-aged man with a sharp beard, wearing a dark suit and a curious half-cape, is hanging out of the window of the Rolls-Royce. Blood, champagne, cigar smoke, and glass fragments leave a trail in the air behind him. He’s laughing. Smoke is pouring out of his mouth. His fangs are showing. He’s shouting something.

He disappears completely in a purple smear.

Behind where his body used to be, you can see into the car. A younger man with an even more ornate outfit is driving while glaring at you. His eyes shift slightly to something behind you, inside your car, possibly in the passenger seat. You notice the scent of cigar smoke filling your car.

The passenger - as of now your passenger - is seated in the right side of your car, wiping the blood off his hand with a handkerchief while holding the cigar in his lips. The champagne is balanced on his knee. His eyes are on you. Very on you. 

You can’t help but meet his gaze. He draws you in, envelops you, and twists your mind around. The adrenaline that had been surging through your system departs, and your heart rate slowed. Your limbs become heavy, almost as though you were falling asleep, until your eyes close completely and you linger on the edge of consciousness. You can feel his breath as he leans over you, takes the wheel, and guides your car into his driveway.

### 

"Slayer."

His voice lifts you out of your sleep. Panic floods your system. Your eyes open involuntarily, and you are locked in his gaze. You can feel his vampiric magic suppressing your urge to get out of your chair. 

"Slayer is my name."

He’s standing over you. His eyes are staring directly into yours.

"I know your name already. Valkenhayn's already told me. Ah, there he is."

Half by your own will and half by Slayer's command, your head turns to the door. The driver of the Rolls-Royce is standing in the doorway holding a small stack of books. His eyes switch between you and Slayer as he takes an exasperated breath.

"Introduce yourself to our guest, Valkenhayn."

Valkenhayn draws himself up to his full height, almost as high as the doorframe, and gives a deep bow. He addresses you while staring at Slayer. 

"Slayer is himself a guest in the Master's household."

Slayer coughs conspicuously. Though Valkenhayn's eyes remain on Slayer, he turns his head gradually towards you. His gaze sweeps over after a tangible delay.

"I am Valkenhayn. The reason you have been brought here will become clear with time."

Slayer floats across the room to inspect the wallpaper. 

"Valkenhayn, would you do us the favor of reading us the titles of those books? The ones the Master has asked you to fetch for her and Sharon's research project."

Valkenhayn stares at you as he lists them off. 

"Human-form Lycanthropic Breeding Habits, Vampiric Sexuality volumes 1 through 3, Supernatural Aphrodisiacs Catalog, The Complete Compendium of Historically Significant Erotic Werewolf Encounters.”

Your eyes widen. Valkenhayn turns and departs down the hall. Slayer faces the doorway and covers his smile with his fist.

### 

You are laying face-down on a varnished table. Your wrists and ankles are tied, keeping you firmly spread-eagle. Slayer is sitting daintily on your naked back. He leans over and whispers into your ear.

“I hope you’re prepared for this. I don’t intend on being gentle. The Master wants a comprehensive report, after all.”

The light from a fireplace set high up in the wall supplements a smattering of thick red candles. Valkenhayn is using a moonbeam to illuminate a notebook, quill at the ready. He looks fascinated. Slayer floats off your back and, with a flourish, drags something metal out of the fire. Flecks of hot ember fall onto your exposed skin. Slayer walks a short circle around the table to stand in front of your face, dangling a glowing fire poker in one hand. The red-hot tip draws an afterimage in the dim.

“We’re going to start at quite high intensity.”

Slayer reaches out with the poker with his off-hand raised up behind him like a fencer. The tip approaches your shoulder. The glowing metal casts red light on the table and on your skin. Your heart rate accelerates dramatically. Cold sweat runs down your face. He winds up and bounces the poker off your upper back.

“There!”

Excruciating pleasure shoots through your brain and upends all your conscious thoughts. You let out a shuddering shriek that causes Valkenhayn to sit bolt upright. He stares at your face for a moment, then begins scribbling furiously.

“And again!”

Slayer punishes your right shoulder blade. Another flash of pain. He had put his back into it. Valkenhayn is audibly splattering ink about as he struggles to focus on documentation. Slayer taps your other shoulder blade for good measure before viciously slashing the side of the poker into the small of your back. Your scream echoes down the hall. Valkenhayn’s writing hand stops dead. 

“Valkenhayn! Keep writing! We have an excellent and highly flexible subject on our hands, and it’d be a shame to waste any of their suffering!”

Slayer reaches across you and slides the poker back into the fire. He puts his hand on your back and massages the points that he struck. 

“Valkenhayn. Now that we've subjected our guest to such suffering, it is important to care for them. They need a moment to rest.”

Valkenhayn’s quill goes to work again. Slayer brushes his hand up and down your back as if preparing a work surface. 

“You are prepared for more, aren't you?”

### 

Valkenhayn’s breathing is ragged. His bare chest heaves as he let out a shivering moan. He’s squatting over a dildo, lowering himself onto it while bracing himself with one hand on a wall and one on your shoulder. You’re kneeling in front of him, watching as his cock hardens.

“Touch... me…”

He gasps every word. 

“I want… you to touch… me with your hands…”

His vicious glare sells his desperation. You tilt your head to feign misunderstanding and prolong his suffering. He lets out a shuddering moan and adjusts his grip on your shoulder.

Tentatively, you reach for his cock. Your position is awkward, given that you’re kneeling in front of him, so you lean forward and take it in your mouth. Valkenhayn shudders and runs his hand through your hair. You torture the tip of his cock with your tongue, drawing laboured moans out of Valkenhayn. He drives his fingernails into your shoulder, painfully reminding you of the tender marks on your back. 

Slayer whispers in your mind. Take charge.

You place your hands on Valkenhayn’s hips and push him slowly down onto the dildo until it is all the way inside him, simultaneously working over his cock. You gingerly pull your head back, teasing him one more time. You kiss his chest, then lower him onto his back while he let your tongue into his mouth. The taste of Slayer’s cigar smoke. 

Valkenhayn’s breath is hot on your crotch as you lower your hips onto his face. You can feel the outline of his fangs through his lips. You lean forward and take his cock in your mouth again, working him over until you both settle into a rhythm. You pull his legs up toward his chest so you can ease the dildo out, then slide it gradually back into him. At the same time, you let your body down and forward, forcing his cock down your throat. Matching the pace between that and the dildo, you fuck him while forcefully throatfucking yourself with his cock. Valkenhayn lasts less than half a minute before filling your mouth. You slowly remove the dildo from him, then extract his cock from your mouth and cough his cum onto the floor. 

Before you can recover, Slayer’s mind pressure overwhelms you again. You try to resist until you realize what he’s doing: increasing the sensitivity of your nerves. You shoot straight up with Valkenhayn still under your hips. Your back burns, remembering the torture you had endured earlier. Your vision blanks out, and when it comes back you’re lying flat on your back with Valkenhayn taking your crotch in his mouth. Every movement of his tongue forces you to shudder and moan. You climax inside of a minute, holding Valkenhayn’s head and grinding his face against your crotch. He crawls up your body, letting cum and saliva pour off his jaw and tongue before collapsing on top of you. Slayer’s satisfied humming echoes in your mind as you slip into unconsciousness.

### 

Given that Slayer had supernaturally induced you to sleep on a cold stone floor with a rather tall werewolf on top of you, you are receiving an apologetic back massage. Indirect sunlight illuminates the oversized bathing room. Valkenhayn is nowhere to be found.

Slayer is carrying on with some monologue about research and compensation that’s slowly turning to background noise as his hands knead the stiffness out of your back. The scent of his pipe smoke mixes with the myriad soaps. You’re in a daze from the events of last night, Slayer’s skillful massage, and the aromatic cocktail in the air.

At around 11 AM you realize today is a work day. You’ll come up with some excuse. It's gonna have to work for tomorrow as well.


End file.
